


Too Hot

by claquesous



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Kissing, Kissing Games, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 13:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3383969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claquesous/pseuds/claquesous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A game where the two players kiss without stopping and without touching each other. If one player touches the other, they lose. The winner gets to do whatever they want to the loser.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Hot

**Author's Note:**

> Super duper old, like at least two years old.

Bahorel stomps into the room. This is normal. He stomps up behind Feuilly’s chair and examines his roommate’s screen. This is normal. He does not speak and is still for more than five seconds. This is not normal. Feuilly turns to look up at him, before he can move more than an inch, Bahorel has a handful of his hair and is yanking his head back, neck bared to the ceiling. This is probably more normal than it should be.

“Bahorel,” Feuilly starts.

“Shut up. We are going to play a game.”

Feuilly tries to resist and is rewarded by an excruciating yank on his hair. “That kind of game?” Feuilly asks, deadpanning despite the way his blood lurches through his veins.

“That kind of game,” Bahorel growls, in a lower voice than should be possible, and leans over the back of Feuilly’s chair to whisper in his ear. “Come to bed.”

Feuilly doesn’t move until the grip on his hair has loosened enough for him to stand without getting dizzier, but as soon as he’s moving, Bahorel is dragging him forward and pinning him to the bed. Feuilly purrs a little in his throat despite himself, and Bahorel chuckles ferociously. Just as Feuilly is reaching up for Bahorel’s own hair, he yanks hard and Feuilly yelps. “There are rules, young grasshopper.”

“Rules are stupid for these kinds of games.”

“You are wrong, babe. Rules were made for these kinds of games.”

Feuilly struggles and has more hair yanked out of his skull.

“The game consists exclusively of kissing.”

“Got it.”

“ _Exclusively_.”

“Fuck.”

“No touching.”

“Dammit.”

“No stopping.”

“Shit.”

“And when I win, I get to have my way with you.”

“I surrender.”

Bahorel pulls his hair again. “I won’t win unless you try.”

Feuilly whines.

“Sit up,” he orders, and Feuilly does so with difficulty, rubbing at his scalp.

“We can’t do it like _this_ ,” Feuilly insists. They’re facing each other cross-legged.

Bahorel glares at Feuilly. “You’re being difficult.” He grabs him by the ass and hoists him into his lap, still unfairly almost eye-level. “That better?”

Feuilly grins. “Yes.” He shifts just enough to provoke a groan and not enough to call him out on it. “Fuck, yes.”

Bahorel removes his arms from where they automatically fell to Feuilly’s hips, and Feuilly glares pointedly. He clasps his hands behind his back and Bahorel does the same, his eyes alight with competition.

“Kiss me.”

Bahorel snorts. “You’re not going to be in charge for very long.”

“I gotta make the most of it,” Feuilly shrugs.

Bahorel stretches his neck up to catch Feuilly’s smirk with his teeth, licking his upper lip lightly. Feuilly is kissing him back almost before there’s any “back” to it, foreheads and tongues pressed together. Bahorel’s fingernails dig into the palms of his hands before he feels Feuilly’s warm hands on his face, soft and rough at the same time.

“Goddammit, Feuilly.”

Feuilly grins idly, not removing his hands, and just barely rolls his hips, his eyes fluttering shut as he kisses Bahorel again, his way: soft and slow and obscene.

Bahorel shoves him square in the chest, provoking an adorable, outraged gasp. Feuilly has to catch himself before he falls completely over, and he is splayed out before Bahorel in a most spectacular fashion. Feuilly scowls. Bahorel smirks. Just as Feuilly’s about to push himself back up, Bahorel gropes his very accessible groin, making Feuilly shudder and fall back on the bed in a way that clearly shouts, “have your way with me.” But Bahorel stops immediately.

“You’re just making this harder for yourself,” he says tragically.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Feuilly snarls, pushing himself back up to glare at Bahorel close up.

Bahorel shrugs, trying not to grin. “Play by the rules, and you will be rewarded.”

“I’m not your fucking dog,” Feuilly scoffs, and starts to roll off Bahorel.

Bahorel panics. He knows exactly the extent of Feuilly’s self control, and it is approximately eight times his own. Bahorel is all bravado. He grabs Feuilly’s ass and anchors him to his lap, making them both see a little red.

“Try again,” Bahorel says, half _or else_ and half _please_.

Feuilly glares for a moment, but he sighs, and Bahorel takes it as a signal to continue. He kisses him hard and fast and dirty and there is almost nothing but teeth until Feuilly takes it upon himself to intervene, pulling back enough to discourage Bahorel and continuing no less violently but at his own slower pace, with more tongue. Bahorel can’t even justify what it does to him; he doesn’t even like tame kissing. This is hardly tame, but it’s considerably more tender than he’s ever kissed anybody else; it just isn’t how he does things. But fuck, is it even better. He starts to put his hands up Feuilly’s shirt, but recoils when he remembers what they’re doing. Fuck.

Feuilly chuckles at Bahorel’s fumble, and swipes the side of Bahorel’s mouth with his tongue. Bahorel moans loudly, hoping to take down Feuilly first, since he’s the one who suggested the game in the first place. But all Feuilly does is respond in kind, grinding down on Bahorel and groaning and blowing his fucking _mind_ , for god’s sake.

But then there are hands in Bahorel’s hair, blunt nails leaving a trail of goosebumps up his neck, and Bahorel’s on his back, laughing triumphantly until Feuilly steals the sound from his mouth. _Winner my ass_ , he thinks, because who fucking cares.

 

 


End file.
